


fill your cup

by EdenAziraphale



Category: xxxHoLic
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, in that they're adults living together and nothing hurts, mildly AU, you'll pry happy doumeki from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdenAziraphale/pseuds/EdenAziraphale
Summary: “What are you staring at?” Watanuki asks, no venom behind the words, just curiosity, maybe a little of that ever-present anxiety.“Nothing,” Doumeki promises, reaching out one hand to touch the hem of Watanuki’s shirt and tug him just a little bit closer. “Just glad to be home.”





	fill your cup

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly nothing happens here. I just needed the fluff and love.

 

When Doumeki finally pulls in and parks his car in the driveway it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. He switches the key off in the ignition, hand dragging slightly as he pulls it out, heavy. Driving cabs isn’t the hardest job Doumeki has ever had by far, but it’s exhausting and the hours aren’t great. Nights like this where he works late shifts always leave him feeling a little out of sorts. He’s tired. He’s hungry. His muscles are sore from sitting in a car for eight hours.

And he’s maybe a little cranky from some combination of those things. Watanuki has certainly accused him of it before.

There’s relief, too, though. Settling under his skin and unlacing some of the feelings that leave him wound tighter than a bowstring. Just being home- knowing that Watanuki and their bed are waiting inside- is enough to unwind Doumeki just that little bit more.  
  
He unlocks the door (Watanuki never used to lock it during Doumeki’s late shifts, afraid that the other boy might forget his keys, but Doumeki had insisted) and pushes it open. The light that greets him is muted and warm, which means that Watanuki has turned off everything but the corner lamp. It also means that he’s waited up, or at least attempted to. (Some nights he tries but doesn’t make it, and Doumeki comes home to find him asleep on the sofa. Those nights, Doumeki wakes him gently with kisses and small nudges until he can draw him back into the bedroom.) Stepping into the room confirms it.  
  
Watanuki is curled up on the sofa, tucked in the corner with his glasses riding low on this nose, book resting on his knees. He looks up as Doumeki walks in. Something about finding him there, the sight he makes, the fact that he’s waited- his chest fills with warmth and suddenly Doumeki can breathe in ways that he couldn’t five minutes ago. Deep and unlabored. Easy.  
  
“Welcome home,” Watanuki says, folding his book closed. He stretches languidly on the sofa and each limb goes long and loose with the movement.  
  
“Mm,” Doumeki mumbles, watching him. He drops his keys and his bag on the coffee table just as Watanuki stands to greet him, the other boy moving in close enough for Doumeki to see how tired he is. Soft around the edges, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks when he yawns. He has the most beautiful eyes that Doumeki’s ever seen. Even before they’d started dating, Doumeki had dreamed about those eyes.

“What are you staring at?” Watanuki asks, no venom behind the words, just curiosity, maybe a little of that ever-present anxiety.  
  
“Nothing,” he promises, reaching out one hand to touch the hem of Watanuki’s shirt and tug him just a little bit closer. “Just glad to be home.” He pulls the other boy all the way in then, arms folding around him and hugging him tight. Watanuki immediately reciprocates, his own arms coming up, fingers hooking on Doumeki’s shoulders. Doumeki sighs into it, the final tension of the day sliding away.  


“How was your shift?” Watanuki murmurs, words tucked in against Doumeki’s collar bone through the thin, blue cotton of his uniform shirt. Two years ago this wouldn’t have been possible. Watanuki would have probably panicked at the idea of this kind of intimacy. (Did panic, before, when their relationship was first starting. Doumeki can still remember the overwhelming number of false starts, the way Watanuki had cried, once, and told him through clenched teeth _you need to pick someone better_ ). “Saturdays can be…” He trails off, shaking Doumeki out of his reverie. Doumeki noses into the soft hair at Watanuki’s temple.  
  
“Uneventful,” he promises.

The Watanuki of the present tucks his face down against Doumeki’s neck without hesitation, without shame, lips leaving a gentle, chaste kiss behind. “Are you hungry?” He asks, looking back up at Doumeki briefly. “There’s soba for you in the fridge.”

Doumeki _is_ hungry, but it can wait. More than food, he needs this. “Later,” he murmurs against Watanuki’s temple, lips trailing from there to his cheek, down over his jaw. “This is more important. I missed you.”  He kisses him properly, slotting their mouths together just to feel the warmth, the softness. Watanuki presses up into the contact, his mouth opening slightly in invitation. Doumeki doesn’t hesitate.

The kiss is slow and warm. He can taste Watanuki’s exhaustion and the tea from the mug he left on the side table when Doumeki came in. Watanuki will insist on putting it away, later. He’ll want the cup rinsed and placed properly in the rack like it is every night, but for now Doumeki keeps him close. His thumb brushes appreciation gently into the small of the other boy’s back. They stay like that for a small eternity, fingers curling and uncurling, tongues brushing sweetly, without intent. It’s not the kind of kiss that leads to anything at all except sleep and holding one another beneath the blankets, legs tangled together. “There’d better be prawns,” he murmurs against Watanuki’s lips when they break apart briefly, teasing. “I’m not eating soba if there are no prawns. And chilis.”

There’s a protest coming. Doumeki can see it, outlined clearly in the frown lines forming between Watanuki’s eyes and the fussy downturn at the corner of his mouth. Doumeki hasn’t eaten, and that bothers him. He’ll want him to have dinner before bed, but it drives him crazy when Doumeki teases him like this- makes demands. The obvious conflict between his desire to take care of Doumeki and his desire to hit him has never stopped being funny, even all these years later.  
  
_It actually might be funnier_ , he reflects while he watches Watanuki’s expression shift stormily through the complicated process of forgiving Doumeki for being an ass. Eventually, he must reach the conclusion that Doumeki is allowed to live another day, because his eyes narrow and he takes him by the arm to drag him toward the kitchen. “You’re in no position to make demands,” Watanuki grumbles, and Doumeki smiles despite himself at the simple domesticity of it. The predictability. “You’ll eat what I made or you’ll starve.”  
  
Doumeki makes a quiet noise, disbelief, but allows himself to be led- still charmed by how well he can predict what’s going to happen here. Watanuki is a creature of habit, and Doumeki thrives on that. It wasn’t so long ago that their lives were chaotic more often than not. Now he cherishes every moment of quiet routine.

“Don’t smile, jerk,” Watanuki continues, still frowning. “There’s nothing funny about you starving to death.” Doumeki doesn’t stop smiling, though, and there was only the barest hint of upset in Watanuki’s voice anyway. More to do with the idea that Doumeki might refuse to eat than any real anger. As if Doumeki has ever actually said no food that Watanuki cooked.

“You’re the one threatening to starve me,” he points out with a shrug, looping one arm around the other boy’s waist as Watanuki removes the food from the fridge. The bowl is dotted with prawns after all, noodles drizzled with Doumeki’s favorite chili sauce. Smirking, Doumeki tugs Watanuki back against his chest even though he swats at his arms and complains.

“ _Stop that_ ,” Watanuki doesn’t actually pull away though, and the two of them watch in easy silence as the bowl spins in the microwave, the kitchen air full of the sharp smell of ginger and chilis and the mechanical hum of the microwave itself.

When the microwave beeps, Watanuki pulls away to retrieve the bowl and gives it a stir before passing it over, chopsticks included. Dutifully, Doumeki crunches his way through the first mouthful and hums his appreciation. It’s good. Not as good as it would have been if he’d been home to have it fresh, but still better than anything Doumeki’s ever made for himself. Still Watanuki’s cooking. When they’d first started really speaking to one another, Doumeki had asked if Watanuki could actually make anything that tasted bad. He knows now that even Watanuki’s ‘failed’ attempts still carry in them the taste of home, of _rightness,_ that Doumeki had chased from the very first bite. This soba is no different. Eventually, he’ll tell Watanuki about it- that he’d known, sitting in a schoolyard and tearing into carefully-packed bento lunches, that he’d follow the other boy to the end of the earth, even if he never asked him to. He can taste Watanuki’s soul in his food, he always has.  
  
Tonight, it tastes like security. Like affection. Like waking up wrapped around him before the alarm goes off and knowing they still have an hour left to lie together. Doumeki eats slowly despite the time blinking at him in fluorescent blue-green numbers from the microwave’s digital screen and lets himself savor it.

“I was able to get a lot done today,” Watanuki says around a yawn, leaving the kitchen for a moment. He returns with his cold tea and pours the remainder down the drain, washing the cup properly and placing it in the rack. “Everything is packed for our trip tomorrow, including the food.”  
  
Doumeki nods and makes an encouraging hum around the food in his mouth, prompting him to continue. They’ve been planning to visit Himawari for weeks, which means that Watanuki has been organizing the actual trip for days now, even though they’ll only be staying a couple of nights. He feels bad about not being here to help with the packing, but if it’s all finished, that means the two of them will get to sleep in tomorrow.

“I told her we’d be there close to noon, since everything is already taken care of.” Ah, well. There goes sleeping in. Doumeki is tempted to complain, but his mouth is still full of food, stomach warm and tight with contentment.

“What’s that face?” Watanuki asks, spying Doumeki’s apprehension despite the silence. “We’ll be happier if we leave early. Then we won’t have to rush.”

Shrugging, Doumeki swallows and picks through his bowl for more shrimp. “We’re going to have to rush out of bed,” he points out. “It’s already almost two.” Watanuki frowns and glances at the clock like he hadn’t considered the time. Doumeki watches as the other boy chews on his lip, doing the mental math, remembering that he won’t be the one driving on six hour’s sleep. The change that comes across him happens so fast it’s almost precious.  
  
“I can text her in the morning,” he concedes, the barest edge of guilt coloring his voice. “She won’t mind if we arrive a little later.” Doumeki nods his gratitude, mouth already full of food again, and leans back against the chipped blue laminate of their counter. He watches Watanuki silently for a moment, tries not to get caught in the way the moon slats through the blinds onto his hair, the skin of his neck. Fails. Seconds tick by and Doumeki realizes that he can’t go another moment without touching him. He reaches out and draws his thumb over Watanuki’s bottom lip, pulling it carefully from the sharp clamp of his teeth. It makes the other boy blush beautifully.

“What are you doing,” Watanuki asks, hiding his embarrassment behind a grumble. Doumeki sweeps his thumb softly over his lover’s abused lip and then kisses him softly. It’s short, chaste. Doumeki wants to linger but he’s getting tired and they have places to be in the morning. “Thanking you,” he murmurs against Watanuki’s lips, pulling away. Watanuki blushes harder but he doesn’t complain, just slips the fingers of his left hand into the pocket of Doumeki’s jeans, keeping him close.

Finished, Doumeki rinses his bowl and puts it away despite the fact that he’d rather leave it for morning and then reaches once again for Watanuki with still-wet hands, smearing droplets of water over the other boy’s waist when he grabs beneath his over-sized night shirt. Watanuki makes a noise of protest and tries half-heartedly to squirm away, but Doumeki just buries his face in the crook of his neck, sighing. “Come to bed,” he murmurs, scraping his teeth along the edge of Watanuki’s shoulder. “It’s late and I’m tired.”  
  
“Yes, _yes,_ okay.  Stop that, you’re getting me wet!” Doumeki does let go, but only so that he can pull his own shirt over his shoulders and drop it in the hamper on the way to bed. His jeans are shucked with similar carelessness, shoes having been toed off as soon as he came in the door. He throws himself on the bed, scooting beneath the covers only when Watanuki swats at him and says, “Move over, you big lump.”  

The bed came with the apartment. It’s western style- a wooden headboard attached to a metal frame with both a mattress and a box spring. Doumeki had been reluctant to use it at first, used to futons, but after the initial transition it hadn’t been bad. Now sleeping here is just like sleeping anywhere else. A bed is a bed, and Doumeki hasn’t ever been picky.  
  
It’s warm and familiar, which is what Doumeki more and more finds himself living for. The simple comfort of watching Watanuki carefully fold his glasses on the bedside table, the way he takes his time slipping out of the long, soft pants and folds them over the edge of the hamper. Ritual complete, he sits on the edge of the bed and lifts the blankets enough to slip under. As soon as he’s within reach, Doumeki wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him playfully into bed. The noise Watanuki makes is hilarious- half squeak, half indignant grunt.

“ _Jerk,_ ” Watanuki murmurs, wiggling his way back against Doumeki’s chest. He’s warm and feels small under Doumeki’s arm, and the smell of his shampoo feels more like home than stepping in the door had. “Stop squirming,” he teases, lips brushing Watanuki’s ear. “I’m trying to sleep.”  
  
Watanuki lets out an exasperated huff and knocks his heel into Doumeki’s shin. In response, Doumeki grins and digs his thumb into the soft, sensitive place just above his lover’s hip-bone, causing the other boy to squirm even more. “I thought you wanted sleep,” Watanuki says petulantly, tangling their legs together.

“Mm.” Doumeki breathes a sigh and nuzzles down into the space between Watanuki’s shoulder and cheek, nose dragging slowly, breathing him in. “I do. I’m sleeping.” Watanuki makes a sound like he’s long suffering, but his head tips to the side and the motion is everything. Pressing a kiss into that vulnerable hollow of skin, Doumeki tightens his arm around Watanuki’s waist and lets the weight of the blankets press in on them both. _A safe place,_ he thinks vaguely, the thought spinning out into whispery nothingness. That’s what all of this routine is, what it means. The habits they made, the spaces they created for each other. _We made a safe place._

Watanuki grips his hand loosely, threading their fingers together. “Goodnight,” he says quietly, sounding like he might be half asleep already, voice blurry at the edges. Doumeki squeezes back, gripping and then relaxing. By morning they’ll have let go of one another, and Doumeki will wake to Watanuki twisted in, curled close to his chest, his arm dead and numb all the way to the shoulder beneath the other boy’s head.

“Goodnight,” Doumeki murmurs, the words spoken softly against Watanuki’s skin like a benediction. When he wakes, that horrible static tingling will be the first reminder that Watanuki is still here, safe and close; cradled and warm in the home they built together. That they’re still building.  Doumeki looks forward to it, every single morning. “I love you.”  
  
Watanuki shifts a little, moving away from sleep rather than into it so that he can tilt his head back against him. His cheek is flushed and warm where it touches Doumeki’s. “Love you too.” It’s quiet. Small and embarrassed, shared like a sacred thing in the dark space between them. Doumeki smiles.  
  
Slowly, Watanuki relaxes against him, shoulder slumping as he falls gently into peaceful sleep. Only then does Doumeki let himself close his eyes. Cars pass outside, the occasional rumbling drone nearly made silent by the tick of their clock, the in-out of Watanuki’s breathing. Doumeki can feel himself slipping. He’s sure that, were Yuko here, she’d tell him that this, whatever it is, is its own kind of magic. _Goodnight._ The clock ticks. Beneath him, the mattress is too soft. Watanuki snores, softly, and his arm seems to tingle in anticipation.

_Goodnight._

**Author's Note:**

> Have prompts? Requests? Wanna tell me this was really bad? Wanna talk about Douwata and make me the happiest soul alive? Come see me at my Tumblr, [EdenAziraphale](http://www.edenaziraphale.tumblr.com)


End file.
